Yet he did not know
If it were friend or foe,
Or whether it came from above or below:
However, 't was civil in angel or elf,
For he ne'er could have fill'd it fo well of himself.
Chor. Let cenfuring, &c.
Even fo Master Doctor had puzzled his brains
In making a ballad, but was at a stand:
He had mix'd little wit with a great deal of pains;
When he found a new help from invifible hand.
Then, good Doctor Swift
For you freely must own, you were at a dead lift: And, though some malicious young spirit did do't, You may know by the hand it had no cloven foot. Chor. Let cenfuring, &c.
HEN wife lord Berkeley first came here*,
Statesmen and mob expected wonders,
Nor thought to find so great a peer
Ere a week paft committing blunders.
́Till, on a day cut out by fate,
When folks came thick to make their court,
Out flipt a mystery of state,
To give the town and country sport.
To Ireland, as one of the lords juftices.
Bush with new state airs,
His lordship's premier minister;
And who in all profound affairs
Is held as needful as his † clyster.
With head reclining on his shoulder,
He deals and hears mysterious chat,
While every ignorant beholder
Afks of his neighbour, who is that?
With this he put up to my lord,
The courtiers kept their distance due,
He twitch'd his fleeve, and stole a word;
Then to a corner both withdrew.
Imagine now, my lord and Bush
Whispering in junto moft profound,
Like good king ‡ Phyz and good king Ush,
While all the reft ftood gaping round.
At length a fpark not too well bred,
Of forward face and ear acute,
Advanc'd on tiptoe, lean'd his head,
To over-hear the grand difpute;
To learn what Northern kings defign,
Or from Whitehall fome new exprefs,
Papifts difarm'd, or fall of coin:
For fure (thought he) it can't be lefs.
* Bush, by some underhand infinuation, obtained the post of secretary; which had been promised to Swift, + Always taken before my lord went to council. See "The Rehearsal."
My lord, faid Bush, a friend and I,
Difguis'd in two old thread-bare coats,
Ere morning's dawn, stole out to spy
How markets went for hay and oats.
With that he draws two handfuls out,
The one was oats, the other hay;
Puts this to's excellency's fnout,
And begs he would the other weigh.
My lord feems pleas'd, but still directs
By all means to bring down the rates;
Then, with a congee circumflex,
Bush, fmiling round on all, retreats.
Our liftener ftood a while confus'd,
But, gathering fpirits, wifely ran for 't,
Enrag'd to fee the world abus'd
By two fuch whispering kings of Brentford.
PROBLEM.
"THAT MY LORD BERKELEY STINKS, WHEN HE IS IN LOVE."
DID ever problem thus perplex,
Or more employ, the female fex?
So fweet a paffion, who would think,
Jove ever form'd to make a stink?
The ladies vow and fwear, they'll try,
Whether it be a truth or lye.
Love's fire, it seems, like inward heat,
Works in my lord by stool and sweat,
Which brings a stink from every pore,
And from behind and from before;
Yet, what is wonderful to tell it,
None but the favourite nymph can smell it.
But now, to folve the natural caufe
By fober philofophic laws :
Whether all paffions, when in ferment,
Work out as anger does in vermin ;
So, when a weazel you torment,
You find his paffion by his fcent.
We read of kings, who, in a fright,
Though on a throne, would fall to fh-.
Befide all this, deep scholars know,
That the main ftring of Cupid's bow
Once on a time was an a- gut;
Now to a nobler office put,
By favour or defert preferr'd
From giving paffage to a t→→;
But ftill, though fix'd among the stars
Does fympathize with human a—.
Thus, when you feel an hard-bound breech,
Conclude love's bow-string at full stretch,
Till the kind loofenefs comes, and then
Conclude the bow relax'd again.
And now, the ladies all are bent
To try the great experiment,
Ambitious of a regent's heart,
Spread all their charms to catch a f-;
Watching the firft unfavoury wind,
Some ply before, and fome behind.
My lord, on fire amidst the dames,
F-ts like a laurel in the flames.
The fair approach the speaking part,
To try the back-way to his heart.
For, as when we a gun discharge,
Although the bore be ne'er fo large,
Before the flame from muzzle burst,
Juft at the breech it flathes firft:
So from my lord his paffion broke,
He f-d first, and then he spoke.
The ladies vanifa in the fmother,
To confer notes with one another;
And now they all agreed to name
Whom each-one thought the happy dame.
Quoth Neal, whate'er the reft may think,
I'm fure 'twas I, that fmelt the ftink.
You smell the ftink! by G-, you lye,
Quoth Rofs, for I'll be fworn 'twas I.
Ladies, quoth Levens, pray forbear:
Let's not fall out; we all had share,
And, by the moft I can discover,
My lord's an universal lover.
Pliny, Nat. Hift. lib. x. c. 67. lib. xxix. c. 4. As maftiff dogs in modern phrafe are
Call'd Pompey, Scipio, and Cæfar;
As pyes and daws are often styl'd
With Christian nicknames, like a child;
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